


Blown

by aderyn, faerymorstan



Series: Snow Queen 'Verse [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Autumn, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunting, M/M, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:32:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn/pseuds/aderyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerymorstan/pseuds/faerymorstan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We have a ghost,” John announces cheerfully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aderyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn/gifts).



> [aderyn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn/works) had this idea, and wrote more than half of the words, and was kind enough to let me join in. Thank you, poet-friend. You are wonderful, and I am grateful for you. <3 *quietly dies of happyflail*
> 
>  
> 
> [lyrics in my mind while reading.](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/wolfparade/sameghosteverynight.html)

There’s clattering in the kitchen. Sinked hands, sunken in soap. The flocks turn in great wheels over the cottage. Dry November in the roses, still bright with it.

“We have a ghost,” John announces cheerfully.

“Yes, quite a lot of them,” Sherlock says, arcs a brow from the oak bed.

“Just one this time,” John says, lifts lint from a sleeve. “Made a great mess in there.”

_You. Blown like milkweed over the fields, like the cries of the geese._

“Hauntings,” Sherlock says, “happen when no-one knows what else to look for.”

They walk to the river, watch it black and quick, take in the sky.

In the morning the dishes are unstacked again, strewn.

*

Clouds fast and grim over the moon and Sherlock rests his arms on the hickory table, stares into the kitchen.

“Wasting your time,” John says. Feeds birch to the fire. “Can’t solve a ghost, Sherlock. Not even you.”

_But I can try._

Sherlock drags his nails, snags on a scratch. “John, when you were--” Swallows.

“When I was what?”

 _Tracks on the porch, fur in the brambles, calls on the night air._

“I thought.”

_You haunted me._

John’s hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. “You did, too, you know. When you were up north."

Suds on the soap. Rags wrung out, draped over the edge of the basin.


End file.
